


Collaboration

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alcohol, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mess, Rimming, Rough Sex, Smoking, deliberate misuse of power, first class verse, intimate sex, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 19:14:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7726498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You want to build a fort,” he asks.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Erik nods.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“With me.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Again, another nod, that might be called sober if the proof of their being entirely Not That weren’t present all around them.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“A fort of fornication,” Charles asks again, eyes widening as Erik rolls his and groans, his floating can dropping to the ground. “What! That is exactly what you said!”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collaboration

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd silliness. These two are keeping us in our happy place something fierce. Enjoy!

They are very careful with their powers. Both know the damage they could do should they become less vigilant; should one decide to casually toss a thought beyond the estate walls - or one of their satellite dishes for that matter. They practice as they preach, to the little mutants in their care.

But once in awhile, a quiet nightcap isn’t enough.

Once in awhile, their responsibilities take a toll, and Erik shows up in Charles’ room not with two snifters and a bottle of scotch, but with those as well as two dozen cans of beer.

Once in awhile.

They’re allowed once in awhile.

“What if we get Raven to do it?” Erik muses, tipping the third can of beer elegantly against his bottom lip and sucking in another sip of hoppy brew. “I’m certain she has the experience.”

“Don’t get her involved in this,” Charles warns, amused. His fraternal affection for the lovely mutant never ceases to amaze Erik. “She’s too young.”

“She’s your age.”

“She won’t have the willpower to keep her powers at bay. Or the mastery to keep the entire gaggle quiet and in line for the goddamn weekend, Erik.”

“They could play charades,” Erik mutters, raising his brows and taking another long drink of beer as Charles levels him with a look. “They are children.”

Charles licks the taste of beer from his bottom lip and with a snort, shakes his head. “Not enough to be so easily amused,” Charles responds, “and neither adult enough to be responsible. Risky,” he says. “Too risky.”

“What risk?” Erik scoffs, watching as Charles sets his empty can beside the others, then thinks better of it.

He sets it atop them instead, balanced between both. “I think that in my family’s home, we have all the makings for a proper school, to give proper educations to our wards,” he says. “I’d rather not see it burned to the ground because the kids got into our scotch and decided to play chicken with their gifts.”

“Well, they wouldn’t be in your family’s home, would they? They would be in the woods beyond it. Camping. Building character.” Erik suppresses a burp and sets his own can down beside the others. Four, now; three in a row and one on top of them. He frowns and considers them, head cocking slowly to rest against his shoulder. He blinks when Charles says his name. Again. Clearly for at least the third or fourth time.

“What?”

“I would honestly rather the house burn than the estate, Erik.”

“We can have them camp in the garden,” the other shrugs. “Just… out of the house. So we can have it to ourselves for a change.”

Charles stares at him a moment, only a moment, before he laughs aloud. Spreading his hands, he turns in one direction to take in the expansive master bedroom. He turns the other direction, towards the bed and the balcony and the enormous bathroom beyond. Nose wrinkling as his laughter fades to a grin, he leans back on his palms and shakes his head.

“We have an entire wing, practically, to ourselves,” he reminds him. “And I don’t recall a time in which having everyone in the house has ever stopped you from grunting out my name loud enough to bring the bloody rafters down.”

He accepts another can, with a murmur of thanks and a hiccup. They started with scotch, then moved to shots of rye. And now with one tower of beer to destroy and another to build of the first’s remains, Charles already feels his head swimming.

“What’s put this in your head, anyway,” he asks, opening his beer with a pop and a hiss and a quick slurp of foam. It clings to his upper lip as he lifts his eyes, watching his friend from beneath his fringe.

“I was considering reliving the glory of my college years,” Erik replies with a shrug. There is genuinely no other thought behind it but that. He’s tired. Charles is tired. The week has been somewhat taxing, with a few new mutants making their way into the house and settling in, clinging to the two of them like barnacles because that’s what young ones do. “And I keep thinking of your damn stories from your college years, and the idea of melding the two really appealed to me.”

“You said you were a good student.”

“I was an excellent student,” Erik grins. “But you weren’t.”

“I will have you know,” Charles says, leaning closer, elbows on his knees as he regards his friend half-sprawled on the floor. “That I received perfect marks.”

Erik doesn’t answer beyond tilting his head and reaching out to draw the flat of his thumb over Charles’ top lip, licking the foam from it as he sits back. He just raises a brow with a shrug, before taking a sip of his own beer. Charles regards him for a moment more before inching closer, beer in hand, and with one leg, and then the other, and Erik straightening his own beneath, Charles straddles him.

He sips his beer, squinting over the top of it.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “Harvard was all work and no play, I’m afraid.”

Erik hums, not yet reaching to touch his friend, but merely watching him with a widening smile. “I’m not certain I believe you.”

“Oh, I could show you. We’ll got to the library, take down a dozen books each that need to be read and summarized by morning, and weep into the pages when an existential crises rises like the sun at dawn. I was sixteen when I left there. I’d not have known a good time if it bludgeoned me upside the head.”

“And Oxford?”

“A different story entirely,” Charles muses. “One would imagine that working on four doctorates in two years would leave little time for anything else.”

“One would,” Erik agrees, pursing his lips to cover a hiccup, before taking a deliberately slow drink of his beer, giving Charles a lovely view of his throat working as he swallows. “But you’ve always exceeded expectations, haven’t you my friend?”

Charles preens, narrowing his eyes and shifting his hips just a little, until Erik sets a palm against his thigh.

“So how did you occupy your time, Charles Xavier?”

“With the many traditional means of amusement in Oxford’s ancient and storied history,” Charles grins, that little wrinkle in the bridge of his nose again. “Sneaking into the bars of other colleges to pick up girls. Sneaking girls back out of my college when we’d had our fun. A quick Oxford rub with one of the lads now and again,” Charles says, sliding his hand into the tight space between Erik’s thighs, “when the girls weren’t buying what we were selling.”

He slips his hand free with a single fingertip extended to stroke along Erik’s groin, before he pulls it away with a grin and takes another swig.

“Drinking, and smoking all manner of substances, to excess,” he adds. “And of course, very serious academic preparation for tutorials and exams.”

“Focused intensely on your study,” Erik remarks, wry.

“Very intensely.”

“Never once given to using your abilities to skirt through an exam when you were hungover.”

“Never once,” Charles says, “and certainly never three or four times. So since we needn’t sneak girls around, and there’s no exams to skillfully circumvent, if you’re interested in recreating my college experience…” He lifts his beer and laughs. “We’re off to a brilliant start, old friend.”

Erik lets him drink, and then sets his knuckles beneath Charles’ chin and draws him near enough to kiss, for the moment soft and pleasant, a gentle thing. He’s fairly certain - they both are - that given a few more beers, kisses will become biting and marks will be left on the other’s skin for the morning to reveal.

He groans at the thought.

“I wish I’d had the forethought in college to be so free with my vices and delights,” Erik murmurs, pulling back just enough to see Charles, eyes narrowing as the other’s do. “My college fucking was always a means to an end, pleasant but hardly ever… playful.”

“Aching for control even then?”

“Hardly,” Erik laughs, the sound softer than his words had been. He takes another sip, shaking the can after to check how much he has yet to finish. “I’d usually come back to my dorm with scrapes against my elbows or knees, depending on who had decided to bend me over that day.” He holds up a finger for pause, clears his throat, and amends. “Depending on who I had let bend me over that day.”

“Just boys, then, for your college tastes?”

“Oh,” Erik laughs again. “I actually rather enjoyed it more when the girls did it. Clever women make very powerful lovers.”

Charles blinks. “You let -”

Erik hums in pleasure and finishes his beer, eyes on Charles.

“Erik,” Charles tuts, altogether English in his gentle disapproval but for the gleam of delight in his eyes. “You are a naughty one.”

“Hardly as much as them,” he answers, and Charles loses the facade, laughing loud. “Don’t tell me that the experienced and worldly Casanova Charles Xavier hasn’t ever…”

“Never,” he says, shaking his head. “Not once.”

“Why not?”

“Why not - Christ,” he laughs, eyes wide. “Let’s just say that European girls must be of a very different cut than American or English ones. I think I’d have been caught across the cheek for even thinking about it in their presence.”

Erik’s smile spreads, pleased to have surprised the unshakeable Charles Xavier, and to have experienced something he has not. “A very different cut,” he agrees. “There was one in particular - I’m not one to name names, but I feel as if she’d expect me to speak it with reverence. A Ms. Maximoff, who had the most flexible figure…”

“Alright, enough,” Charles scoffs, as he half-rolls off Erik’s lap, eyes narrowed in a smile cheeks blooming ruddy from the onslaught of Erik’s smugly handsome… smugness. “Are we getting drunk then or not?”

“We’re either ploughing ahead with that, or we have to stop drinking now and fuck,” Erik shrugs, following Charles over, so he’s laying on his side facing his friend. “I think one more beer and neither of our cocks will obey us much.”

“Damn,” Charles sighs, considering his beer before tossing the last mouthful back, uncaring. Choice made, Erik extends his hand and summons two more beers for the two of them, catching his own and taking his sweet time opening it as he holds the other can just out of Charles’ reach.

“Stop it,” Charles laughs. “Stop being a -”

“Prick?”

“Yes.”

Erik grins and lays on his back like a lazy cat, can balanced between his fingers against his chest. He allows a moment more of teasing before presenting the beer to his friend, already opened, from the air.

“I want to be young again,” Erik sighs, grinning wider when Charles punches him fondly on the arm.

“Erik, you’re hardly a hair past thirty.”

“Soon that will be sixty,” the other laments, curling up just enough to take a sip of his beer before laying down again. “Then eighty. Then no more mental or physical function. Useless and sad and grey.”

“And drunk.”

“And not yet drunk enough,” Erik agrees, reaching to tug Charles near again, half atop him when the other loses his balance with a snort. “Come here.”

“No,” Charles declares, digging a socked heel against the floor and trying - and mostly failing - to scoot back away from Erik’s piteous grasp. He squints at him, playful, as Erik lifts his fingers and tugs against the can in Charles’ hand. The professor grips to it and finds that by doing so, he’s slid back the mere half-foot that he gained in his endeavoring to escape. “You can’t have it.”

“But I’d like it.”

“You have one of your own!”

“I would like two,” Erik responds with a grave solemnity.

Charles can’t help but laugh.

That Erik has settled enough to let his guard down this much is a miracle - not even a minor one, a substantial one that should see them both canonized. That he can think of times in his youth, even only back to university, with fondness and longing is a more remarkable feat still. For so long, Erik existed not in past or present, but only in the future - in the world they will shape together. It is a relief unparalleled to see him stretch now within himself, to let himself breathe and remember and draw up from his thoughts not only righteous, furious anger, but gentler memories, too.

One doesn’t recognize how very much work must be done before they can play.

_Let it go_ , Charles instructs him, nearly falling backwards as the invisible coils of Erik’s electromagnetic grasp unravel. He snorts when he laughs, toppled over a bit but triumphant all the same. “Two can play at that game, Mr. Lehnsherr.”

Erik is left turned on his side, arm outstretched against the floor and a pout on his face. He regards Charles with his best wet-puppy look and then snorts as he turns his head against the floor.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, drumming his fingers against the floor. When he settles them, he regards Charles through the hair that has fallen over his face. “D’you know, that’s something I never tried.”

“What?”

“Having someone control my power. I’ve only ever controlled it.” He pushes himself to sit up, on his hip, shoulder resting against the small table that holds their - untouched - chess game. “Imagine the things we could do with such a collaboration.”

Charles hums, squinting at his friend as he sloshes his beer thoughtfully around the can a few times. “I don’t know that I’d dare with anything bigger than this,” he snorts. “Not unless I had to. You’ve far more skill with - ah, with… yourself,” he says, clearing his throat, “than I do.”

But his demuring of Erik’s temptation lasts for no longer than another sip, a suck of foam from his upper lip, and a spreading grin.

“What should we do?”

“Together?”

“That’s what you said.”

“I know what I’d like to do together,” Erik purrs, and Charles laughs, sticking out his foot to prod Erik’s ribs with his toes. “Fine, fine. But -”

“Of course. Yes. Yes, of course, it will come to that.”

“Good,” Erik says with a smile, before he narrows his eyes and considers his options. “So you would be guiding me in what to do.”

“Just another day then,” Charles answers, wry.

“You think highly of yourself,” Erik tuts, smiling. “I think that’s why you appeal to me so much. Now.” He sits up further, crossing his legs elegantly before him and setting the beer to the ground just beside. “When one starts working on something new, be it education, meditation, mastication or fornication - ” Charles nearly chokes on his beer. “ - one must start from the very building blocks of the action itself.”

“What do you suggest, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

Erik casts his eyes to Charles and considers him, tipsy and lovely and flushed, sitting near enough to touch if Erik were to lean even a little more forward. He doesn’t, yet, instead he concentrates on the can before him, spreading his fingers and letting it hover just a few inches off the floor.

“I think, Professor Xavier, that you and I should build a fort.”

Charles’ words die on his lips, parting a little wider in surprise as his brow furrows. He searches Erik’s eyes to see - well, to see what in the hell he’s on about, but no answer presents itself. Stroking his tongue along his bottom lip in thought, Charles runs down the possibilities, but it takes only a moment, because it is a list of options that contains no answer whatsoever.

“You want to build a fort,” he asks.

Erik nods.

“With me.”

Again, another nod, that might be called sober if the proof of their being entirely Not That weren’t present all around them.

“A fort of fornication,” Charles asks again, eyes widening as Erik rolls his and groans, his floating can dropping to the ground. “What! That is exactly what you said!”

“For once, my friend, I am not the one implying you need a goddamn good rimming. No. I mean build. Literally.” He raises the can again. “Build. I move the cans, you tell me how to. Without your instruction I won’t build a thing.”

“That’s - that’s fine,” Charles says, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts of a goddamn good rimming, which he could really use right now. He blinks at the can, and at Erik. “That’s absolutely fine. You needn’t build a fort of cans.”

“You’re wrong,” Erik says to him. “I must.”

“You must.”

“Yes.”

“You must, absolutely, right now and only with my unspoken instruction… instruction or force?”

“Whatever it takes.”

“Only with that, can you build your aluminum fort,” Charles finally asks, brows raised very high indeed beneath his fringe. He looks into Erik’s very serious expression, and sighs. “Well,” he says. “I imagine we’d best get to finishing them all off then.”

Erik sits forward and presses a messy kiss to Charles’ mouth, holding him close until he’s finished, pulling back with a grin and a wink and letting the can land on the floor again.

“Just consider,” he says, enthusiasm making his entire form tremble. “The faster we learn to collaborate this way, the quicker the fort will be built.” He shifts to sit on his knees, leaning in to kiss Charles again, and finds himself stopped with a palm against his lips.

He mumbles something and Charles sighs, trying - truly trying - not to find this entire thing completely endearing.

“What?”

Erik mumbles again, slower this time, and Charles, after a moment, relents and releases him.

“For however long it takes us to build something significant,” Erik tells him, taking up his beer again to drink. “I will spend twice as much time attending to you after. In thanks.”

“Twice as much time?”

“Twice.” Erik nods, catching a hiccup against the back of his hand. “So it becomes quite the game of strategy too, you see, with whether or not you wish to speed up the process, and enjoy the short time my tongue will spend in your ass, or if you want to put genuine effort into it, learn the process, and then have me eating you out until the sun rises.”

“Erik,” Charles sighs, so maddeningly charmed that his tone unfortunately begins to take on that of someone speaking to an especially adorable puppy. “What process do you even… no,” he says, cutting himself with a shake of his head and an uplifted hand. “Nevermind. Right. A toast.”

Erik lifts his beer. Charles clears his throat.

“For the sake of our future endeavors, for the great institutions we will build together to change the world and make it better, and for the insurmountable satisfaction that will come from your tongue being planted firmly - and I do mean firmly - up my ass,” Charles sighs, lifting his beer, “I will give it my all.”

“And I, too, once we’re through,” Erik grins, all teeth and wonderful wrinkles alongside his eyes.

They agree to these terms with a particularly sloppy kiss, as Charles knocks over the assembled cans to lean closer, all but climbing into Erik’s lap. Their tongues sweep together and their lips tangle, but it’s Charles that pulls away first before Erik can remind him of their duty. He turns and seats himself in the nest of Erik’s folded legs, stretching to bring over the full and empty cans alike and set them up in two sections before them.

“Why do I have the distinct feeling that my bossing you about ties back to your Ms. Maximoff,” Charles murmurs, softly slurping his beer as he counts up the number they have in total. “Well, we need a base first…”

Erik clears his throat. Charles sighs.

_We need a base first, smartass._

Erik obediently lifts his arm, his other hand still holding to his unfinished beer, and turns his face to press a warm kiss against Charles’ neck. He noses along the line of his pulse, cheek tickled by the hairs that stand on end, and stops only when Charles’ voice hums in his ears for him to desist.

_Those not yet empty, those will be our base._

“I may need help removing them from the box,” Erik mumbles against Charles’ shoulder. “Unfortunately, cardboard is not as obedient to me as metal is.”

_Then put your back into it,_ Charles tells him, tilting his head to catch Erik’s eye. _Take the cans out of the box, Erik, and line them up._

With a snort, the other shifts behind Charles and turns his fingers. The box before them shifts and bucks, corners bending a little, the straight edges dimpling as Erik adds more and more gentle force to the cans within. Slowly, second by second, push by deliberate push, the edge of one can breaks through the thin cardboard and slips free to the floor, setting to its base on the wood instead.

After that comes another. And another.

Erik grunts warmly against Charles’ neck and parts his lips to bite there gently. Charles tilts his head to bare his neck a little more. His eyes hood and though he lifts a hand to rest against Erik’s cheek, he does not let himself be distracted from their mission.

It’s silly. Of course it is. But Charles will not protest Erik in a moment of playfulness, not when they’re so very rare. Charles knows that he misses his youth because, in truth, he never had one. It was wrenched from him, cruelly and irreparably, and what pleasures he’s known since then have been claimed by tooth and nail.

No, he will not be the one to dismiss Erik now. Why should he? Aren’t they allowed to enjoy themselves, for an evening - for a moment - when on their shoulders seems to rest the weight of the world itself? And what better way to play together, to learn to work together, than in something that risks no more than a beer popping open and spilling on the floor.

_Arrange them in a circle_ , he tells Erik, thumb grazing the scruff along his jaw as Erik turns another nuzzled kiss against his neck. _One half can’s width apart._

Erik lifts his eyes, but not his head, and with the tilt of a finger sets two cans to begin. The third scrapes softly into place. The fourth, Charles stops, with a slight smile and a squint.

_A little nearer,_ he says, with something stronger than mere suggestion.

Erik bites the inside of his lip and obeys. He can feel a familiar pressing against his temple, one that had for so long tormented him with instructions such as this, one that he had forced himself to grow used to, to know how to block out. He can feel it and forces his own defenses to ease, as the cans draw nearer, by his hand but not his thought.

He thinks, instead, of how beautiful Charles is when his lips part in pleasure and he hasn’t even breath enough to voice a sound.

_Concentrate,_ comes the stern but delighted remark, and Erik finds that he can no more control the way his mind returns only to the task at hand as he can the twitching between his legs.

_Set three in a row. Then two before them. One before those._

Erik does, eyes closing as he lets Charles’ voice, soft and warm and so familiar in his ear, wash over him and guide him. He makes a sound, he’s sure, not unlike those he makes in bed, and bites his lip a little harder as he grins.

“What’s this,” Charles says aloud, his voice surprising enough that Erik laughs outright. Charles glances at him, amused, and reaches for one of the beers that Erik just arranged, cracking it open. “A complication.”

“How unexpected,” Erik grins, trying to hide his smile against Charles’ throat. “How dastardly.”

“The best laid plans of mice and men,” answers Charles, pausing before he takes a sip. “And mutants.”

He swallows a mouthful and smiling, settles back against Erik’s broad chest. He can feel his heart as it beats a little faster with what he can feel is pleasure, not alarm. Charles offers him a sip and Erik takes it, sucking the suds from his top lip and pushing a breath out through his teeth.

_Replace the one I took with another filled one_ , Charles tells him, fighting down a smile. _And rub your cock once - only once for now - against my bottom._

“You’re a right shit, Xavier.”

_Erik,_ comes the smug reply. _Be good. Replace the can I took with another. Rub your cock, just once, against my bottom._

Erik snorts, but finds that as much as he may not want to obey, he just does. Another can smoothly shifts to where it belongs in their set up, and his hips push up, involuntary, to rub against Charles before him. His knees bend a little, toes curling in his socks, and he hums as he settles again, nuzzling Charles’ neck.

“There is something absurdly lovely about that… vulnerability,” he admits. “We’ve twenty-four cans to build with. Shall we continue?”

“We shall,” Charles tells him, turning his head to push a kiss against Erik’s cheek. Positive reinforcement, for allowing himself to be open to this. Gratitude, for allowing Charles the privilege. Affection, because Charles can feel no other way than that towards his dearest friend, and he breathes out softly against his cheek before his smile grows so wide he has to laugh, before turning turning back to the task at hand.

Through suggestion, not compulsion, they manage a second level, half the number of the first. Erik’s skill despite his inebriation is a beautiful thing to behold, no less remarkable to behold for the smallness of scale. It isn’t pulling up submarines or turning satellites, but the precision plucks a chord of desire in Charles that forces him to bite his bottom lip so that he doesn’t distract with sound.

Linked as they are in mind, Erik hears it anyway.

“This is so involuntary,” Erik laughs, breath soft against Charles’ skin. He has chosen to keep his eyes closed, though Charles hasn’t told him what to do with them one way or another. He moves with incredible precision, relying on Charles’ eyes and command, nothing more.

Every new instruction, now, comes with the added and very welcome rub of Erik’s prick against Charles’ ass. He’s curled one hand around his friend’s middle for good measure, squeezing him close with every new push.

_Take the can from my hand, set it on top of the rest._

Erik does, allowing himself a sip from his own can, the beer grown warm from where he’s held it, as he waits for Charles to tell him what to do next.

_Draw your knees up. Sit closer._ Erik snorts, doesn’t even want to try and resist, obeying in a smooth motion. Open your eyes, look at what we’ve made.

It’s not a particularly impressive tower, or it wouldn’t be had it been made by the drunken hands of two college boys. But this contraption had been built by mind and delicate control. By the two of them collaborating in the most intimate way. Erik rocks hard against Charles with another groan, even without being told, and wraps both arms around his middle, as he noses behind Charles’ ear.

“Well,” he sighs. “Would you look at that.”

Charles laughs, lifting his arms back up over Erik’s shoulders. He turns his head and mouths a kiss softly against the corner of his lips, their smiles too wide for more than that, their pleasure too resplendent and wild for either to know what to do with it. Their happiness builds between them like an electrical current, resonating back and forth between them and growing each time the other feels their friend’s pleasure build.

“The first foundations of the world we’ll build together,” Charles whispers against Erik’s temple. “Rendered in empty cans of beer -”

“Some full.”

“Mostly empty cans of beer, with our skills combined to shape something that wasn’t there before,” Charles sighs. His cock pushes so hard against his trousers that it hurts a little, and Erik rocking beneath him rubs friction when Charles is shifted forward. He does not say, nor even think the words _I love you_ to his friend. He needn’t, knowing that Erik can feel it just as Charles can feel the same from him.

“What do we do with it?” Erik asks, smile widening.

Charles lifts a brow and his lips purse.

_You know what to do._

Erik shivers with the words, lets them run down his spine like fingertips, and catches Charles’ chin in his hands to turn him a little and kiss him full on the mouth.

“It can wait ‘til the goddamn morning, we’ve built it strong,” he mutters, helping Charles squirm around to face him before kissing him again.

Despite the copious amount of drink in their system that will render them both completely broken with hangovers from hell in a few hours, neither have softened from their play. It had been as much a thrill for Charles to use his power on Erik as it had been for Erik to be so used. Now, the young professor crawls eagerly over his friend as the other lays back and welcomes him, knees parted and toes leaving the floor as he folds his legs around Charles.

“God, I want you to fuck me right now,” Erik groans, arching up and laughing when Charles clicks his tongue, before immediately sinking into another kiss.

_No._

“Then move,” Erik whines against him. “Get your goddamn belt off and _sit_.”

“Sit _where_?” Charles laughs, reaching between them to try unbuckling his belt, and groaning put-upon when Erik only tightens his legs more. “You are terrible. You are absolutely awful.”

“You won’t be saying that in a few minutes.”

“I will if you don’t let me bloody - oh hell,” Charles curses, as Erik suddenly relaxes his hold all at once and Charles topples from atop him. His heel catches their tower and it wobbles. Their eyes widen.

_Now_ , Charles thinks, laughing aloud. _Now, Erik!_

The other reaches out, but instead of the cans cascading down and spinning to every corner of the room, the tower just begins to disperse. First the space between the cans grows wider, and wider, and wider, and then they fill most of the ceiling space above them, Erik watching them with wide eyes and a wider grin.

And then he fists his hand, a quick jerk of a motion, and they all crumble, all at once, empty ones falling with a hollow clatter to the floor, full ones spilling their insides over the two of them, making them laugh even more. And then, with a noise like the back of a ‘just married’ car, they all find their way to the floor, none falling on top of them, as the two young men laugh as though they have never seen anything funnier in their lives.

Wet and stinking of beer, they collapse together as the cans did, laughing against the other’s mouth before they tangle into a kiss and a collision of clumsy limbs. Erik pulls Charles’ hair and Charles bites Erik’s bottom lip. After banging their knees together Charles finally gets his over and ruts their cocks hard together. Their kiss breaks apart with a moan shared by both and in this moment, Charles pulls himself away, wriggling wormlike across the floor from Erik.

“Where are you going,” Erik demands, his voice a resonant and not entirely unthreatening purr.

“You told me - you told me to take my belt off,” Charles proclaims. “You said that, and I can’t if you’re on top of me. There!” He cries out, pulling his belt free with great speed and drama, except that it sticks halfway because he’s laying on it. “Hell. Hell and damn. Erik!”

His friend crooks a brow.

“My belt!”

Erik snorts and reaches out to him again, waiting until Charles makes another plaintive sound before falling into a fit of giggles, before just summoning the metal belt clasp, and Charles along with it.

“Absolutely,” he sighs, dragging his friend nearer. “Utterly. Hopeless.”

The belt comes away as it should have, and clatters to the floor. Erik hoists Charles up to straddle him again, encouraging him up higher until the other is sitting with his thighs around Erik’s chin. His fingers work quickly, sticking with the beer and his own drunken clumsiness, and he snorts a laugh before finally getting the button open, fingers clicking to shove the zipper down next.

“Up,” he tells him, laughing when Charles obediently pushes up on his knees. “These, off.”

The trousers slide down Charles’ thighs as far as they can do, his pants following in short order. And before Charles can complain again that he’s stuck, before he can move to attempt to get himself unstuck, Erik grasps him by the thighs, slides himself further under his friend and arches his neck as he coaxes Charles down to sit again.

Hot lips meet trembling skin, and that’s all Erik needs to feel before Charles damn near smothers him with his weight, taken aback and delighted by this particular position.

Charles’ immediate concern that he might suffocate his friend is dispersed, immediately, but the sweep of Erik’s hot tongue against his hole. That isn’t to say he might not smother him this way. That isn’t to say he isn’t trapped in his trousers and in a precariously unbalanced position, sitting on his friend’s face. But a noisy, moaning suckle against his opening twists Charles’ words of concern instead to a groan, lifted towards the ceiling as their empty beer cans had been mere moments before.

He rocks himself upward and down again, stroking himself across Erik’s tongue. Firm hands grip his thighs but neither stop his movements nor guide them. Charles leans back enough to rest his palm against Erik’s stomach, fingers snaring his shirt into a fist. With a gasp, choked down rough, Charles opens his thoughts, his feelings, his innermost self to Erik.

Vulnerability, Erik said.

Charles is all too happy to yield his own in turn.

_Harder_ , comes the first thought. _Deeper_ , comes the next. _Erik, yes, God yes, Erik…_ begins the litany of sensations that Charles can only outwardly express in riotous moans and wavering laughs.

Erik drowns in all of them. His entire body responds to the whispered words that seem to come from his very soul and through his bones, to the outward laughter and panting breaths. He responds damn near violently when Charles curls his hand a little harder in his shirt and untucks it from Erik’s pants, revealing his stomach.

He can feel Charles’ nails through the thin fabric.

God, he wants to eat him alive.

With little more left to him but the use of his extraordinary tongue, Erik keeps his thoughts flowing open and endless, throwing images and thoughts and words and kinks at Charles enough to unbalance him a little. Erik’s hand reaches to catch him against his chest, holding his friend steady as he pulls away just a moment to breathe.

“Keep still,” he scolds him, and Charles only manages a laugh, weak and needy, before he spreads his thighs wider and coaxes Erik’s mouth to him again.

He sits balanced precariously over him, on his knees with his trousers tight around his calves, upheld by the hand on Erik’s chest and the support of his friend’s face wedged firmly into his ass. For a moment, nothing happens. Only Erik’s breath passes across Charles’ damp skin, cooling and tickling him all at once. Erik draws another breath and Charles bites his bottom lip, bracing, but again, the touch doesn’t come.

He can feel Erik grin against his cheek.

“Tease,” Charles laughs, the sound almost dire in his desperation before a long, flat lick against him jerks his voice upward again. Charles rocks down against the touch with abandon, sealing himself against Erik’s lips as readily as Erik locks them around his hole. The firm stab of Erik’s tongue inside him pulls a curse from Charles that topples into a laugh, helpless.

It’s a tentative balance, a deliberate give and take. Charles drops his hand down to Erik’s hair and strokes against his scalp, tugging his hair, smoothing it down again. He keeps his mind open, allows his pleasure to flow into Erik’s and back to him again, a constant feedback loop of euphoria.

It’s dizzying.

On top of the alcohol and the giddiness of having built and destroyed something together, it’s damn near like flying.

“Erik, fuck...” Charles sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and lets it slip free wet. He won’t last much longer, hard and throbbing as he already is. Neither of them will. And it hardly matters, because come morning they will wake up tangled and rutting; come next evening, Erik will be in Charles’ bed again, moaning his name to the high heavens.

They have time.

They have all the time in the world.

_Enough_ , Charles manages out, laughing so helplessly that his entire body shudders with it, wrought with pleasure. _Let me move._

He is surprised to feel resistance, a hesitation to his strongly-thought suggestion that should find Erik compliant in an instant. He arches a brow and moans softly as he’s licked again, and Erik’s hands hold tighter to his spread cheeks. It’s as if a gentle push to topple dominos into the pattern he wants instead finds him pushing against a solid wall.

Charles blinks, eyes wide, and just as he’s about to draw breath and ask how Erik is resisting him, he feels the wall give and hears Erik’s thoughts in a murmur.

_...was going to let him go anyway…_

And with that, Charles is released, rocking forward onto his hands and knees. His bare, wet bottom is exposed. Trousers tangle around his legs. He glances back with nothing less than utter shock as Erik slowly sits up, tracing a thumb across his bottom lip.

“Remarkable,” Charles whispers.

“Get in bed.”

Charles grins, and scrambles nearly headfirst back into the floor in his trouser-bound hurry.

Erik snorts and takes just a moment to work his own belt and trousers open, shoving them down his thighs before following Charles to the bed and pinning him to it. A gentle bite to Charles’ earlobe, a rub up against his ass, and Erik hums, warm.

“Ass up or legs up?” He asks, laughing when Charles makes an exasperated sound.

“Why not both?”

“Because I won’t indulge your greed, Charles Xavier.”

This grave declaration makes the professor laugh loud against the mattress. Rubbing his cheek against the blanket and arching his back deep and bottom high when Erik nibbles his ear again, Charles stuffs his hand beneath himself and tugs his cock a little. Really, this is a construction of which they should be proud. Nevermind erecting towers of cans - that they can make themselves erect is far more impressive.

“Legs,” Charles finally decides, cursing as Erik’s weight leaves him and he finds himself turned, facing the ceiling instead of the bed.

Erik looms above him, beautiful and drunk and not constrained by his usual serious demeanor. Charles watches as the man wriggles free of his shirt, still goddamn graceful despite getting caught in it a moment and struggling to work it free. It doesn’t matter. Because as soon as he’s bare, Charles is tugging him close again to kiss, wrapping his arms around Erik’s back to draw his nails in red lines along it.

“Look at us,” Erik whispers, dropping his hand to stroke himself, lining up against Charles’ hole as the other squirms impatiently beneath him. “We’re extraordinary.”

Charles moans, drawing his knees up higher, setting his ankles sharp against the base of Erik’s back. Their lips linger close enough to kiss, but neither move to, and when Erik pushes in, they share a puff of air and a moan together instead.

“I love you,” Erik manages, arms trembling as he holds himself up. He tucks his face against Charles’ neck and shudders, pushing deeper still. “I love you.”

Charles’ eyes widen as he’s penetrated, the friction numbed to a pain that hinges so close to pleasure as to be inseparable. He is filled, satisfied, consumed by the man who lays heavy and secure against him. With fingers in Erik’s hair, and an unsteady sighing laugh against his ear, Charles opens his mind and his body alike to be occupied entirely, in every way, by his other half.

_I love you too, Erik. I love you too._

Erik’s teeth bare somewhere between a grin and a snarl and Charles can do no more than clutch to him trembling as the bed shudders beneath the weight of a stiff thrust. Charles cries out his pleasure, he moans his pain, he presses lips that tingle breathless against his friend’s ear and cheek and throat and finally against his mouth. The taste of cheap beer and good scotch mingles with cigarettes and pot, wrapped altogether around the taste of each other that they seek with sweeps of tongue and hungry lips.

Erik wanted to experience what knowing Charles in his university years would be like. How could Charles do anything other than provide?

Erik sets into a rhythm and adjusts how he holds himself over Charles. One arm curled around his head, the other presses to the headboard to allow some leverage of movement. 

He grins. Charles grins back.

“I would have infuriated you at school, wouldn't I?”

“Would you have?”

“Too good on the outside. Too showy…” Erik curls his hips and moans in tandem with his friend as Charles drops his head back and scrapes his nails over Erik's scalp. “No apparent outward desire to be fucked senseless by you in the library…”

“That would have driven me mad, yes,” Charles laughs, before the stretch of his ass, impaled on Erik’s prick, nearly bends him from the bed. He shudders out a laughing moan, heels pressing and slipping down against Erik’s back. Firm hands snare him by the back of his knees and press them nearly to beside his ears, as Charles grunts beneath the stiff fucking and his cock leaks dripping against his belly.

“I would have - ah,” he gasps. “I would have thought you smug. In-insufferable. A know-it-all who does know it all which makes it far worse,” he laughs, clutching desperately to Erik’s wrists. “I would have known you wanted me to fuck you, though…”

Erik snorts, slowing his strokes to regard his friend, folded in half beneath him. Charles opens his eyes slowly, unfocused, and lifts his fingers. A little twiddle beside his temple is all it takes for Erik to grin wide, and Charles positively basks in it.

“Cheater,” Erik murmurs, adjusting his position to thrust slower but deeper, pulling helpless cries from Charles when he strikes his prostate every time. “Terrible thing. I would have made you ask first, you know.”

“I wouldn’t have - have asked,” Charles laughs, pressing his hand to his face as he tries to control himself, his other slipping down to stroke his cock just out of time with the deliberate and absolutely perfect fucking.

“No,” Erik agrees, groaning, rhythm breaking as he feels his own orgasm build and build. “No, you wouldn’t have. You’d have pushed me up against a wall, lips stubbornly hard against mine, and made it perfectly clear what you wanted.”

“What _you_ wanted.”

“Both,” Erik grins. “Both of us.”

Charles shifts upward and Erik lets his legs slip from his shoulders. They gather tight again, immediately, against his ribs. Holding him fast, Charles grasps Erik by the back of his neck to drag him low. He kisses him just as he would have then, demanding and knowing, volunteering just what Erik wouldn't have realized he so badly needed.

Yes, he would have cheated to discover if Erik desired him as badly as Charles would have - does, now, desire Erik. Yes, he would have waited not at all longer than necessary to move on him. Yes and yes and yes Charles would have hushed his worry and his objection alike and soothing, stoked the fires of his arousal with rough kisses and gentle strokes and frantic, ravenous rutting in the most abandoned library stacks.

"I would have turned you right against them," Charles sighs, no need to speak with words that his thoughts project in sight and sound and touch, overlaying their own reality here and now. "Pulled down your trousers and run my hand into your pants, as prelude to my tongue."

Erik curses and turns his lips against Charles’ neck, sucking a dark bruise there as the other continues to half-murmur half-project his thoughts at Erik. They would have fumbled, they wouldn’t have spoken, both feigning displeasure at such a brief and casual contact. God, they would have been entirely insufferable to anyone but the other.

It would have been explosive.

Erik pants his pleasure, weak little sounds following along and clinging to Charles’ damp skin. He’s close, they both are, rutting into each other, stroking, arching, squeezing, pressing… Erik wraps his arms around Charles and lifts him, pulling him up to sit in Erik’s lap as they plough onwards, in their drunken delirium and absolute pleasure, to their completion.

“I would have loved you then too, I think,” Erik admits, laughing as Charles moans an expletive against his shoulder and comes hot and sticky between them.

He clings to his friend, they cling to each other. Nails leaving ribbons of pale pink in their wake, their bodies heave together, losing rhythm and momentum and jerking in unsteady bursts of thrusts downward, against, up, together. Erik’s hands drop to Charles’ hips and force him to stillness, only for a moment, only long enough for Charles to feel the swell of his cock and feel his release shudder groaning from him.

They would have loathed each other.

They would have loved each other.

They would have debated and argued and laughed and played together.

But they are not so far gone from that, yet. University kids they are not, but as evidenced by the mess smeared between them and the happy clasp of their kiss together, to say nothing of the spilled beer and crushed cans all across the room, they have not lost themselves entirely to their responsibilities. Not yet.

And if Charles has anything to say about it, they never will.

Erik holds to Charles, though he’s trembling completely from his release, and strokes slowly up and down his spine, curling his fingers away so only his knuckles bump over the bones he can feel through warm skin.

The entire day, the entire evening, has climaxed, and neither feel the need to move at all, beyond touching the other and learning them this way again. In gentleness. In quiet. In that strange twilight of emotion where neither closes their mind yet and allows idle thoughts to flicker between them like little silver fish in a muddy lake.

“You’re going to have my ass in the morning when you find your room a tip,” Erik murmurs after a while, grinning against his friend as he lays him down and pulls free with a hiss of pleasure. Charles shifts, accommodating the stretch and release with a soft grunt and a long sigh. Draping one arm across his eyes, he opens the other. Erik inches up to lay against him, head on his shoulder and lips pressed against his cheek.

“Little kisses won’t save you now,” Charles warns him, but he can hardly finish the sentence before he grins wide, peeking at Erik from beneath his arm.

“What if I clean them up first?”

The question is accompanied by a lift of Erik’s fingers and the cans scrape along the floor. The don’t actually dispose of themselves, though a few float and drop back down again with a quiet clatter. Charles snorts when he laughs, charmed. “Impressive, Mr. Lehnsherr, but no. No, I’m afraid it won’t make a difference. I’ll have your ass anyway.”

Erik arches his back in a deliberate cat stretch and grins when Charles slaps a palm against his bottom in playful retaliation.

“I suppose I can’t argue that,” he mutters, making himself more comfortable against his friend. Charles drops his hand to tug through Erik’s hair instead, his own eyes at half-mast, barely awake after such a goddamn good orgasm. He doesn’t want to move. And neither have to, in truth, for some hours yet. He groans at the very thought.

“I also didn’t make the mess on my own,” Erik adds after a moment, glancing up when Charles shifts to stare at him. “You built the tower through me. In a way you destroyed it through me as well. Only fair that the mess is cleaned up between the two of us.”

“Yes,” Charles agrees, before he immediately disagrees, as is their wont. “But it was your idea.”

“You didn’t have to agree to it. You wanted to build it as much as I did.”

“I didn’t imagine that you would burst full cans of beer from overhead.”

“You didn’t have to imagine,” Erik responds, brows lifted high. “You heard my intentions as clearly as if I’d spoken them, and you didn’t stop me.”

Charles snorts. “Am I being entrapped into cleaning up your messes?”

“Just the one,” Erik grins, as Charles relents with a warning hum and turns to face him. Their bodies nestle together snugly, fit flush together even as Erik turns his back against Charles’ chest. He usually winds up being the little spoon. Charles doesn’t mind. He wraps his arms around his friend, a leg over his, and keeps him close, nose buried against his hair.

“Do one thing for me,” Charles asks, “before we sleep and fight about this in the morning.”

Erik makes a questioning sound, and Charles smiles, kissing him.

_Shut off the light._


End file.
